A Case of House and Holmes
by Michael Weyer
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is called in to investigate the deaths of patients in London and meets his match in Gregory House. HouseSherlock Holmes crossover. All comments welcomed. COMPLETED.
1. Chapter 1

A Case of House and Holmes

By Michael Weyer

I don't own either character or properties so don't sue.

Frankly, I'm surprised no one's tried this approach before. I admit I'm not exactly a medical genius so forgive some mistakes I might make with exact names (then again, they weren't quite as technical in the time I'm speaking of). All comments are more than welcome, feel free to reply.

Early November in London is an interesting period. The warmth of autumn and the falling leaves gives way to the chill of winter and this one promised to be quite chilly indeed. It seemed the perfect afternoon to make my way to 221B Baker Street to see what my old friend Sherlock Holmes was up to.

The sky was darkening as I made my way to the brownstone and made me grateful I had taken my umbrella with me. Mrs. Hudson bowed her head as she opened the door following my knock. "So good to see you again, Dr. Watson. May I take your coat?"

"Thank you," I said as I handed it to her. "Is Holmes here?"

She sighed and I realized Holmes was in one of his periodic melancholy moods. Nodding in sympathy, I headed upstairs and knocked on his study door. A sharp "Enter" and I stepped in.

Holmes sat in a chair by the window, puffing on his pipe as he gazed out the window. His profile made his nose look sharper, matching the stern expression he held. He was dressed in trousers and his standard smoking jacket and I saw his violin lying at the table by his side. "Good afternoon, Holmes," I said.

"Watson," he said, his nose twitching a bit. "I trust you enjoyed the reunion of your old regiment?"

I stopped in place and shook my head. "Holmes, you're fortunate to have born in the century when you were. If you had lived in the Middle Ages, they'd have burned you at the stake for witchcraft!"

That seemed to bring a true smile to his lips as he turned to me. "I was observing you as you stepped out of the coach, my dear fellow. I noticed the way you brushed some ash from your sleeve. That told me you had been in the presence of a heavy cigar smoker. When you were within range of my nose, I could tell the rather distintictive brand, one that matches a few of your fellow former soldiers that they brought from Afghanistan. I am aware that the only time you partake in such a fanciful luxury is at your reunion."

I simply nodded. "You would think by now I would no longer be surprised by how you manage to deduce these things."

"Oh but how will I ever entertain myself?" Holmes sat back, the smile vanishing. "Well, if you came by hoping for some sort of excitement or inspiration for your next tale in _The Strand_, I am afraid you are in for disappointment. The last week has been sadly quiet for anything equal to my talents."

"Really?" I asked in surprise as I sat down. "Surely Lestrade has been by asking once again for aid in the Whitechapel slayings."

Holmes sniffed. "He has. And I told him again, I do not wish to waste my time on something so…unimaginative." I know that must sound callous even a few years after the mysterious "Ripper" had stopped his spree of killings. I admit I sometimes suspected Holmes did know who had killed those poor women but for some reason or another did not wish to make it public. I had tried to pry that out of him but been rebuffed and as it is easier to turn back the seasons than get Holmes to change his mind, I decided to let the matter drop.

Holmes took another drag on his pipe. "It is difficult to keep one's mind intact when one has nothing to challenge it, dear Watson. It's almost to the point where I was about to ask Mycroft if he required my aid."

I raised my eyebrows as I realized the desperation Holmes was reaching. He much preferred Mycroft come to him rather than the other way around. Like so much of Holmes, I failed to understand how this rivalry with his brother came about. But I had long found it better to not get involved in their disputes. This did mean that Holmes was in dire need of some sort of diversion and the sooner the better.

"Perhaps a vacation is in order?" I ventured.

He rolled his eyes. "So I may spread my boredom abroad? No thank you. Besides, you know I prefer to wait until the more uncomfortable time of year to travel."

I nodded in recognition of that. "Still, you should find something to…"

I was interrupted by a knock on the door as Mrs. Hudson entered. "Your pardon, Mr. Holmes," she said in a cool tone. "But there is a woman here who wishes to see you."

"A woman?" Holmes repeated, instantly straightening.

"She says she needs your help."

Holmes stroked his chin and nodded. "Show her in, please." He rose to his feet, adjusting the sash on his dark smoking jacket. "Well, Watson, it seems providence has taken pity on me."

I rose with him and turned as Mrs. Hudson entered with a woman behind her. She appeared to be in her thirties and rather attractive with a lush mane of curly black hair framing her face, which was marked by a nose sharper than most women's. She was wearing a dark blue dress with a shawl over her shoulders. She smiled nicely as she looked to us. "Mr. Holmes. And you must be Dr. Watson. I am Dr. Lisa Cuddy."

"Hmmm…" Holmes stroked his chin as he looked her over. "I admit to being impressed, madam. I was unaware America had become so forward thinking as to allow a Jewish woman from New York to attend university in Michigan to become a surgeon, albeit a novice one."

I've made it a hobby of studying the reactions people get when Holmes manages to figure out their lives and origins in only moments. Dr. Cuddy blinked, not as shocked as some but I could tell she was still thrown. "How…" she began.

"I have made a few visits to the United States," Holmes began and while he denies it, I can hear the smugness in his tone as he speaks. "As such, I know the rather distinctive accent those of New York have. Yours has a touch of the Yiddish which, combined with the distinctive pendant you wear, hint at your Jewish upbringing. Schools in the northern States are a tad more forward thinking at allowing women to excel and the mix of longer constants points to either Illinois or Michigan, but I lean to the latter due to how you seem less effected by the chill outside."

"And that I'm a surgeon?"

Holmes smiled at me. "I believe even Watson can figure that one out."

I was thrown at first at the rarity of Holmes allowing me to participate but recovered. "Your hands," I noted. "Holmes recognizes, as I do now, that you hold your fingers reflexively as a surgeon does. That your way is less pronounced shows you're still new at it."

Cuddy nodded. "Well then…I see your reputation is well earned, Mr. Holmes." As he made a gesture of humility, she went on. "That's good because I need your help with a…problem I have."

"Please, sit." Holmes motioned to a chair. Cuddy nodded as she unwrapped the shawl from around her. As she did, she revealed that the dress she was wearing was of a far daring cut than one normally sees in London. A layer of blue lace hung over her skin while there was a deep plunge to the middle of her (pardon my saying so) rather bountiful cleavage. Holmes and I exchanged a look and I could tell he was thinking the same thing I was: If this was what American women were wearing, it was well that there was an ocean between us.

"I have been working with a hospital here in London for the last year," Dr. Cuddy began. "I have been attempting to show English doctors some methods we've been developing in America. I'd like to think it has been going well but in the last few weeks, several patients have been dying."

Holmes puffed his pipe. "Hmmm…I assume you mean more than the average mortality rate of a hospital should be?"

Cuddy nodded. "Yes. There appears to be no connection between the victims. One was a 65 year old male who was suffering lung problems. Another was an 18-year old woman who had broken her leg. All were found dead in their beds and we have been unable to determine the cause."

"Hmm….poison? Signs of foul play?" Holmes asked.

Cuddy raised an eyebrow. "Pardon me, Mr. Holmes but didn't you just hear me say we have been unable to determine the cause?" Holmes frowned, not used to a woman taking such a stand against him. "As we've been unable to find out for certain if it is indeed foul play, the police are little help. So, over the objections of others, I have decided to turn to you."

"Whose objections were those?" Holmes pressed. "Your superiors?"

"On the contrary, they're most interested in solving these deaths as quickly as possible," she stated. "The objections come from our top physician who is reluctant for anyone else to intrude on what he sees as his own problem."

Holmes frowned. "Hmm…Who is this physician?"

"Dr. Gregory House."

I closed my eyes and grimaced painfully. When I opened them, I saw Holmes looking to me with a slight smile. "A friend of yours, Watson?"

I snorted. "If the man has any friends, I'd be shocked."

"I see you've met him," Cuddy dryly noted.

"You have Dr. House working for you?" I asked, trying to keep my disbelief hidden.

"I needed the best," she stated. "He certainly qualifies."

"If I may interrupt," Holmes broke in. "Who is this man?"

I sighed as I turned to him. "He's American as well, a rather brilliant doctor. However, he is also the most arrogant, insulting, unprofessional man I've ever had the misfortune of meeting in my travels." I shook my head. "I know he suffers from his ailment…"

"Ailment?" Holmes asked.

"He suffered a leg injury several years ago," Cuddy informed him. "The surgery did not go as well as it could have and caused a severe blood clot to form."

"It leaves him with a limp," I added. "Not to mention leaves him with near-constant agony which I suppose accounts for some of his behavior…"

Holmes tapped his chin as he looked upward. "I believe I remember reading of this man. Did he not just aid a member of Parliament who was suffering from a strange bout of the flu?"

Dr. Cuddy nodded. "He did. And a good job with it as well. The Queen even wanted him to come to the Palace to receive recognition for it."

I had to admit to being impressed and suspected Holmes was as well. "That must have been quite the honor."

Cuddy let out a long breath and bowed her head. "It would have been if he had attended."

"A medical emergency?" I asked, wondering what else could keep anyone from a meeting with the Queen.

Cuddy rubbed her brow. "Actually, he sent a message back to her saying, and I quote because Heaven knows I cannot make this up, 'Due to the limitations of my physical ailment and because my schedule is so much busier due to my actually doing work instead of sitting on a throne all day, it might be better for her Majesty to haul her broadside to my home instead of the other way around.'"

It's quite rare to see Sherlock Holmes at a loss for words but this certainly qualified. He actually removed the pipe and came close to gaping at the doctor. For all his faults, Holmes is a loyal subject of the Empire and why he may have some problems with authority, he holds a deep affection for Queen Victoria. Thus the very idea of someone speaking to her Majesty in such a way was as stunning to him as it was to me.

"And the man still works in London?" he finally spoke.

"The man is still free?" I demanded.

Cuddy nodded her head. "Yes he does and yes he is because he may be arrogant and he may be insulting and he may have no respect for authority but the son of a bitch is also the most brilliant doctor on either side of the Atlantic." She threw up her hands. "Time and again, he has been called on cases that have defied every other medical expert and he always finds out the problem and corrects it."

"If he is so adept, why come to me?" Holmes asked.

"For all his brilliance, Dr. House has little understanding of how people think and feel," Cuddy stated. "His viewpoint is rather cynical and he almost never bothers to find out anything about the patient's lifestyle. I believe there is more than just a disease or other ailment going around, Mr. Holmes. So I believe you are the best person to turn to for this situation."

Holmes took another puff on his pipe before nodding. "Very well. Watson and I shall accompany you at once to the hospital."

"Now?" Cuddy seemed surprised.

"No better time," Holmes stated as he threw off his jacket and reached for his suit coat. "Besides, I enjoy getting a first look at the scene of the crime."

I smiled to Dr. Cuddy and from the look she gave me, I had the oddest feeling she knew exactly how it felt being around Holmes.

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As we approached our destination, my opinion of Dr. Cuddy rose significantly. The North London Hospital was one of the finest in all of London, a center for teaching new methods and techniques. For a woman, this was high reaching to able to teach British doctors new methods.

Holmes and I followed her into the building. Holmes was now clad in his standard cloak and cap but had placed his pipe in his pocket. One of the few times I have put my foot down with Holmes was in our early adventures as I had to firmly inform him that smoking in a hospital is not very beneficial to a patient's health.

"How many deaths?" Holmes was asking.

"So far, seven," Cuddy stated. "I do hope you can solve this, Dr. Holmes because the hospital's reputation…"

"Ah, Dr. Cuddy, returned from your little sojourn downtown?" A dry and sarcasm-laced voice flowed from a corridor as a man stepped out, leaning on a cane. "Or are my suspicions of your moonlighting in Whitechapel for some extra sixpence correct?"

Not giving her a chance to respond to this outrageous statement, the man turned to Holmes and looked him over. "Ah, I see. You're recruiting a new case for me. Well, a good morphine addict is always something to brighten my day so get him on the table so we can wring him out!"

And thus it was that Sherlock Holmes first met Dr. Gregory House.


	2. Chapter 2

A Case of House and Holmes

By Michael Weyer

My first (and thankfully only) prior meeting with Gregory House was at a medical conference about three years earlier. He had already been building a reputation with his rather…unorthodox methods and I was interested in hearing what American doctors were discovering.

I had approached him just as he was telling the head of the children's medical department that he might as well drown the younglings in the Thames rather than subject them to the treatment the man proposed. Rather than see the obvious warning, I introduced myself and was subjected to several comments I shall not repeat regarding everything from my weight to hair to even my methods. Quite naturally angered, I marched away before asking him any questions.

The man did not appear to have changed all that much in the last three years. He still was unshaven, dressed in dark pants and shirt with a dark jacket over them and still had the same cane to lean on. His eyes looked Holmes and myself over, frowning as he saw me. "Hmmm…I know you from somewhere…Not the morgue, although you would be a good candidate for it."

"House," Dr. Cuddy broke in patiently. "This is Sherlock Holmes and his friend, Dr. Watson."

Holmes nodded. "Dr. House. I am sorry for the inconvenience. I must imagine it is difficult to rouse yourself from your study of the business section of _The Times."_

House seemed to show no surprise over Holmes' observation. "Yes, well, with the end of horse racing to wager upon, not much else to read. Of course, I could always attempt to bring in my copies of _The Pearl_ but for some odd reason, the management takes a dim view of reading erotica in the middle of a hospital."

Holmes pursed his lips. His reaction did not surprise me as, while certainly not a prude, he does not exactly lean toward such unorthodox reading and certainly not in public. He was about to speak when House turned to Dr. Cuddy. "Lisa, my darling, didn't I tell you I don't need anyone's help on this?"

"House," she stated in what I knew was a tone she had to use often with him. "I already explained that we need an outside opinion of these deaths. Why do you have a problem with that?"

"Because people are idiots?" he stated as if it was a clear fact. "And Englishpeople more so." He turned to us. "Sorry but it's true. All you had to do was give us an even break with the taxes and we would still be a colony." He turned and started to limp away.

"Where are you going?" Cuddy demanded.

"On my rounds," House stated. "I need to see just what my wayward wards are up to now before we rack up a higher body count." He looked to Holmes and myself. "Feel free to follow if you want, your friend might learn something about how medicine really works."

Holmes looked over to me. "Is he much the same as the first time you met him, Watson?"

I sighed. "Actually, he appears to be more personable now."

"What a frightful concept," Holmes muttered as we followed him down the hallways.

House entered a small room and broadly announced. "Avast, you scurvy knaves! Your captain has returned and is anxiously awaiting your report!"

The room appeared to be a conference room of some sort with a trio of young men and one woman seated or standing around, all jumping slightly as House entered. I'm sure Holmes could instantly tell the exact origins of each one but I could only observe the basic appearances.

One was a young man with dark hair and boyish features, clad in a dark coat with a standard hospital smock. His companion appeared to be a bit younger with light blonde hair and a thinner build. I was surprised to see their colleague, also in a doctor's coat, was black-skinned. I was aware black doctors were becoming more accepted in America following their civil conflict but it was still rare to see one in London.

The final member was a woman, a rather attractive young one, dressed in the uniform of a nurse. Her hair was tied in a dark brown bun, offsetting her rather attractive face which wore a more patient expression than her colleagues.

The black man looked to us, then to House. "Who are they?" he asked in a deep voice.

"I assume the chattering is intended to be a question of some sort," House intoned flatly as he walked to a table in the corner. "That is Sherlock Holmes and his rather rotund colleague, Dr. Watson."

"Sherlock Holmes?" the blonde haired-man stated in what sounded like an Australian accent. "The detective?"

"No, Sherlock Holmes, captain of her Royal Majesty's Navy," House sardonically stated. "Yes, the detective, you moron!" He motioned to the man. "This is Dr. Robert Chase, an intern whose father has insisted I babysit, much over my objections. Ignore most anything he says, Lord knows I do."

He pointed the cane toward the black man. "James Wilson, the center of a new experiment in which they try to discover if monkeys can learn medicine before being able to type the works of Shakespeare." The man glowered but seemed to take the rather insulting statement in stride.

The other man stuck his hand out to me. "Hello, I'm Dr. Eric Foreman. You'll have to excuse House, the weather makes him crankier than usual."

"Doesn't explain how he was the same way when we were traveling through Virginia in June," Wilson muttered.

Foreman nodded to the woman. "This is Allison Cameron. She recently joined our little group and is working on her medical degree. Until then, she has to settle for the title of nurse."

"And yet she refuses to give me a sponge bath when I ask, very unprofessional," House stated as he picked up a pot from a Bunsen beaker and poured a black liquid into a cup. "Coffee? Oh, wait, you're tea people, even when we dump it in our harbor." He turned and sipped his drink. "So what do we have?"

"Still no signs of any poisons, or traces that anyone caused the deaths," Chase calmly stated.

"See, when I ask, 'what do we have,' I mean what do we have," House stated impatiently. "You are telling me what we don't have. I already know what you don't have, which is concise thinking skills, do you want me to start talking about that all the time?"

"You do that anyway," Foreman stated dryly.

"If I may interrupt," Holmes stated. "Is there any collation between the victims?"

"None," the young woman named Cameron answered. "They're of different ages, genders, backgrounds, there's no link between them that we can see."

"Rarely are things so obvious when you first look upon them," Holmes observed. "Do you still have the bodies?"

"Only the last three," Cameron answered. "Two were buried before we realized there was a pattern and the families have recovered the others."

"I assume there were autopsies?" I asked in a professional tone.

Foreman nodded. "And as we mentioned, we couldn't discover the exact cause of death. It appears they all simply suffered some sort of respiratory failure in their sleep and died."

I stroked my chin. "Hmm…Do you have any files?"

Foreman moved to a desk and held up some papers. "Right here." I reached to study them as Holmes spoke.

"How did you become aware of this pattern of deaths?"

"Ah, you know how it is," House intoned. "You're going along, used to your routine and then someone has the gall to die on you and shake everything up." He shook his head. "It's damn annoying."

Holmes frowned. "I must say, sir, your attitude toward your own patients appears to be lacking in empathy."

"Empathy is a waste of time," House said. "I only care about getting at the problem, not the little entanglements in my way."

Holmes sniffed as he reached to take one of the folders I was studying. I was surprised as he began to study it as he usually allows me to handle the medical side of cases. Still, I learned a long time ago that Holmes' talents are more far-reaching than I suspect. "Hmm…I see the lack of colleration between the victims."

House rose to his feet and began to limp toward the door. "Let's continue this on the walk. I need to make my journey of the damned which Dr. Cuddy refers to as my rounds."

"Sir, I still have questions," Holmes piped up.

"Then give Wilson a banana and let him answer," House retorted as he walked away. With a glance, the rest of his group followed him and Holmes and I fell in line. House made his way to a room holding a half dozen people in beds, four men and two women. "Greetings, ailing masses," he announced. "I'm Dr. Gregory House and I shall be seeing what is wrong with you today."

"Been coughing up some black stuff," an elderly man in the clothes of a chimneysweep said. "Not sure------"

"Black stuff, you say?" House looked him over and sniffed. "Here's a bit of free advice. Stay out of chimneys when you're suffering from a cold. That way, you won't be snorting up soot every five seconds."

"But it's me livelihood!" the man protested.

"And it'll be your deathhood if you don't take a break which means we'll have to handle your autopsy and that is such a drain on our resources." He moved to another bed where a young girl was lying with an older woman, presumably her mother, sitting by. "And what do we have here? Another urchin from the factories?"

"She's been running a fever the last two days," the mother said in a worried tone. "I wanted to give her some herbs from a woman on the street…"

"But then common sense shone through," House said as he checked the girl's head and eyes. "Good show for once among the lower class." He faced Cameron. "Looks like a mild flu, not to serious but give her the solution anyway."

"Solution?" I asked, curious. "Don't tell me you've found the cure for the flu."

"If I did, I sure as hell wouldn't be working here," House snorted. "I'd be living it up in New York on a very nice fortune. We do have a few new tricks to combat it with some drugs and a hearty dose of good old chicken soup."

I frowned. "That does not sound very proactive."

"A hundred years ago, you were still cutting people open to let them bleed out and thinking that would do the job," he dryly observed. "So forgive me if I don't exactly leap to the idea of you being able to dictate the right methods in dealing with a disease."

As I sputtered in outrage, Holmes decided to get things back on track. "Dr. House, in your professional opinion, what caused these deaths?"

"How the hell should I know?" House replied with a shrug of his shoulders. "Frankly, I'm a little more inclined to pay attention to the live patients rather then dead ones. They're more interesting cases by far."

Holmes pursed his lips. "But you must surely have theories."

"Sure, I have theories. So far, I'm thinking the Invisible Man came in and suffocated them in their sleep. I'm also leaning toward the Grim Reaper shifting up his methods."

Holmes thinned his lips. "I prefer to think in more rational terms than that."

"Rational, rational, that's the problem with you Englishmen, always so rational." House ran a hand through his hair. "If you'd thought a little more irrationally, you might have beaten us."

"Rational thought is a key to solving a crime," Holmes argued. "As Watson has related to readers, my philosophy is that once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, is the truth."

House nodded as if absorbing his words. "Well," he finally spoke up in a calm voice. "That's a pretty stupid philosophy."

Holmes' eyes widened a bit. "I beg your pardon?"

"No need to beg, I know I'm no god, although I can understand the confusion," House dryly went on. "Ask anyone who's known me and they'll tell you one thing." He paused to consider his words. "Well, they'll actually tell you two…no three things. But after that, they'll tell you that my success rate has proven quite a few medical impossibilities to be all too true."

He whirled to me. "A few years ago, you'd think it impossible that a paralyzed hand was connected to a lump in a person's brain, right? First thing I was do is look at what's impossible and see if it's true. A handy little trick you should consider trying."

He turned to look at another patient. "This is already a waste of my time, gentlemen, so if you don't mind, how about you let me do my job and just be on your way? I'm sure Chase will help you find the exit. Of course, Cameron is going to have to help Chase find it first…"

He limped away toward another bed. I glanced to Holmes and I must admit, despite my innate dislike of Gregory House, I could not help but feel a small amusement at seeing Holmes given (if you'll forgive the phrase) a taste of his own medicine.

Holmes simply shook his head as he turned and led me out of the room. "Up to today, Watson, I believed there were only two men on Earth who could be so aggravatingly arrogant. One is my brother and the other is George Bernard Shaw." He motioned to the man leaning on his cane. "But now, a new player has made them a trimunative."

I fought my best to keep a smile off my lips as we headed back to Baker Street to go over our findings. Little did we know that we would be returning to House's presence much earlier than we expected.

**A bit of a cliffhanger there, I'll admit. Thanks for all the good comments, keep them coming and I'll try to update when I can.**


	3. Chapter 3

A Case of House and Holmes

By Michael Weyer

**Yes, I know I mixed up Foreman and Wilson, no idea how that happened. Just assume in chapter two, it's Foreman House makes the disparaging remarks to G Hope this makes up for it. **

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Holmes hadn't spoken at all in the carriage ride back to Baker Street. I knew when he was deep in his thinking processes and did not wish any interruptions or distractions so I left him in his thoughts. I was also puzzled as to what the cause of death of these people could be. While I admit I am not as learned as many other doctors in England, I have ample experience with poisons and diseases but this did not seem to conform to either.

As we stepped out of the coach, Holmes removed his pipe and finally spoke. "Thank you for leaving me to my thoughts in silence, Watson."

"Well, I've known you long enough to know when you need to think, Holmes."

Holmes nodded as we stepped to the door. "Well, perhaps a good supper will give us both a clear head to start going through what we've learned." He had barely gotten inside when Mrs. Hudson came to the foyer. "Ah, Mrs. Hudson, Watson will be staying for dinner, perhaps some duck can…"

"Mr. Holmes," she interrupted. "Your brother is here to see you."

Holmes stared at her. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your brother is here," she repeated.

"My brother?" Holmes asked. "You mean Mycroft?"

Her eyes widened. "Saints above, sir, don't tell me you have another brother!"

I did my best to keep a laugh from escaping my lips. I could understand her horrified reaction as the concept of a third Holmes wandering the Earth is more than the mind can bear. I do believe this was one occasion where Holmes' surprise actually exceeded my own. The few times I have met Mycroft was at the Diogenes Club and from the way Holmes described it, it sounded as if the man lived there. From the look on Holmes' face, I would not have been at all surprised to hear that this was the first time Mycroft had ever stepped foot inside Baker Street.

Holmes shook off his bafflement as he removed his cloak and cap, handed them to Mrs. Hudson and then headed upstairs. I followed quickly, interested in just what Holmes' reaction was going to be.

Holmes barged into his quarters to glare at the man in the chair. "Mycroft, what are you doing here?"

"And a good day to you, brother," Mycroft Holmes stated. He was lounging in a chair that seemed to strain under the rather ample weight upon it. In so many ways, Mycroft was the opposite of Holmes, especially in appearance. While Holmes was tall and lean, Mycroft was far more rotund, almost whaleish. He also appeared to have a far more dry humor than Holmes did, which he often used to needle his brother.

Of course, they did have some great similarities. The criminal element of London should be grateful Mycroft was born with what Holmes termed 'a case of constant laziness.' Holmes himself had spoken of how Mycroft was his intellectual equal. However, the elder man lacked Holmes' insight in human nature, not to mention, was unwilling to make the physical efforts needed to find the truth in a mystery.

"So, Sherlock," Mycroft began. He was the only man on Earth who ever addressed Holmes by his first name. It seemed to rankle my friend which was quite probably the reason Mycroft did it. "I understand you paid a visit to North London Hospital this afternoon."

Holmes' eyes narrowed. "Mycroft, if you've had someone spying on my home…"

Mycroft chuckled. "Really, Sherlock, I have better use for my resources than that. You and Dr. Watson were seen by one of my men at the hospital."

Holmes frowned. "Hmmm…I didn't see anyone suspicious and I presumed I know most of your men."

Mycroft snorted. "Sherlock, you don't know half of my men. They're trained to make sure they're not spotted, even by you. Remember, I know how you think." Indeed, Mycroft was the only man on Earth who could truly make that statement.

Holmes was nonplussed as he sat in an opposing chair. "Very well, Mycroft. Just what reasons do you have to place the hospital under your watchful gaze?"

He folded one leg upon his knee. "I cannot go into details right now, Sherlock. Suffice to say, my…office has been paying attention to these deaths almost since they began."

"You know the cause?" Holmes cut in.

Mycroft shook his head. "No. If we did, you would never have been called in. However, one of the fatalities was one of my men. As he was in the midst of an investigation, I naturally have taken interest in what happened."

"What investigation?" I asked.

"I'm afraid that must remain confidential," Mycroft rumbled. "Indeed, I would prefer not to involve you at all but now that you are, I felt it behoove to inform you of my role."

Holmes stroked his chin. "What are you not telling me, Mycroft?"

"Oh, I don't tell you quite a lot of things, Sherlock," Mycroft said dryly. "Let us simply say that my man was investigating something very serious, with broad ramifications for the nation. Whether or not his death is tied into it is unknown but I'm sure you'll find a way to discover it."

Holmes crossed his arms. "I see…But you will not tell me any more than that?" As Mycroft shook his head, Holmes let out a long sigh. "Very well, Mycroft. I can see you are enjoying one of your little games again. I suppose I will simply have to perform the task as I see fit." His lips turned upward. "Of course, if I am, in essence, doing your work, I will require compensation for it."

Mycroft's light smile vanished. "You want payment for aiding me?"

"If it's for the good of the nation, as you said, why not?" Holmes asked, sounding more confident now that he had an upper hand. "Of course, I can always leave you to handle it yourself…" He let his voice trail off, knowing that Mycroft would never get physically involved in the investigation.

The man sighed. "Very well, Sherlock. As long as you can------"

There was a knock on the door as Mrs. Hudson entered. "Pardon me, Mr. Holmes," she stated. "But Inspector Lestrade is here to see you."

Holmes nearly rolled his eyes. "I go over a week without visitors, Watson and now I'm flooded like a railway station. Show him in, Mrs. Hudson."

She nodded and left. A few moments later, Inspector Lestrade entered in his usual dark suit, coat and bowler hat. He nodded to me and stopped in surprise at the sight of Mycroft. "Inspector," Holmes said as he rose to his feet. "May I introduce my brother, Mycroft."

"The good Inspector and I have met before," Mycroft coolly said.

Holmes raised an eyebrow. "Really?" He turned to Lestrade. "I do not recall you mentioning that before, Lestrade."

The Inspector sniffed. "Well, your bother informed me it would be best if I didn't mention that particular investigation to anyone, Mr. Holmes. Particularly you."

I was quite curious to know more but I highly doubted Mycroft would go into the details of the story just now. Holmes was lighting up his pipe as he turned to Lestrade. "So Inspector, to what do I owe the honor of this visit?"

Lestrade turned to his official mode of behavior. "Mr. Holmes, I understand you and Dr. Watson were at North London Hospital earlier today?"

"Heavens, is it in _The Times?"_ I asked sarcastically.

Lestrade sighed. "We heard it from a few witnesses. It appears there has been a murder there."

Holmes frowned. "Are you referring to another of the mysterious deaths?"

Lestrade shook his head. "No, Mr. Holmes. A patient was found stabbed to death. A surgical scalpel was found by the scene but at the moment, there are no other clues as to who committed the crime."

Holmes was instantly alert, taking a long drag on his pipe before pulling it out of his mouth. He placed it down as he called out. "Mrs. Hudson!"

Dependable as ever, our housekeeper entered, already holding Holmes' hat and cap. He nodded as he took them. "I fear we shall be dining later than usual tonight, Watson."

I nodded as I put my own coat back on. "Understandable, Holmes. Just a nuisance that we have to go right back there so soon."

"Sadly, Watson, murderers rarely have concerns for other people's timetables," Holmes dryly stated. He looked to his brother. "I may call upon you later for more details, Mycroft?"

Mycroft rose from the chair and I almost imagined hearing it sigh in relief. "I shall be at the Club, Sherlock," he intoned as he walked by us. "Do try to keep this low-key for a change?" He turned sideways to make his way out the doorway.

Holmes sighed as he placed his cap on. "I fear, Watson, that this case may prove even more complicated than we assumed."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

"What can you tell us of the victim?" Holmes asked Lestrade as the three of us took his carriage back to the hospital.

"His name is George Miller," Lestrade stated. "He's a banker who was checking in for what seems to be flu complications. A nurse found him in his bed with his throat cut and a stab over his heart."

I raised an eyebrow at that to Holmes. "Someone wanted to make certain that this man died quickly."

"Indeed," he concurred. "Whether this is tied in to the earlier cases remains to be seen."

The carriage came to a stop before the hospital and we exited. As we came up the steps, Dr. Cuddy was coming out to meet us. "Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson," she began. "If you'll forgive me, I'm not exactly pleased to see you both back so soon."

"No offense taken, Dr. Cuddy," Holmes said. "I assume the body is where it was found?"

Cuddy nodded. "Yes, we have had an examiner there but Inspector Lestrade insisted we leave it alone while he went to summon you."

"A most prudent move," Holmes stated as Cuddy led us down the hallway to the victim's room. I could smell the crime scene from down the hallway before we entered. The man was lying on a bed, dressing in what appeared to be expensive trousers and a light shirt which was stained with blood. A large gash was evident around his neck and the blood on his shirt was centered around a hole in the upper side of his chest. Lying on the floor next to him was a bloody scalpel.

"May I?" I asked. At Cuddy's nod, I leaned in to study the body. Behind me, I heard Holmes speaking to Cuddy. "When was this found?"

"About twenty minutes after you left," Cuddy said. "We summoned the police at once, of course and when Inspector Lestrade learned you were here, he insisted we bring you back to investigate."

"Holmes," I said. "Come here and look at this." He moved next to me as I pointed at the bloody gash along the man's neck. "Do you see what I see?"

It took only a moment for Holmes to nod. "Indeed. The blood has congealed far faster along the neck as well as on the man's shirt."

Cuddy leaned in, now interested, seeming to show no problems being around a murdered corpse. "I must have missed that before…Then again, we haven't done the full examination yet."

"What does that mean?" Lestrade impatiently asked.

We turned to face him. "What it means, Inspector," Holmes stated. "Is that Mr. Miller here was already dead when he was stabbed."

Lestrade's face drew into a truly puzzled look. "But…why stab and cut the throat of a man who was already dead?"

"Maybe it was a mistake?" Gregory House asked as he limped into the room. "Could be, he was trying to kill someone in the next room but mixed up the 6 with the 9. Happened to me, trying to come to work on the first day. Course, I was also hung over at the time…"

He looked at the body and winced. "Well, that's going to be a bitch to clean up later…good thing I don't handle that." He looked to Lestrade. "Ah, the gendarmes have arrived! Maybe you can find out which of my band of merry men have been stealing my morphine!"

"Inspector Lestrade, this is Dr. Gregory House," Cuddy introduced the two men. "House, we've just uncovered that Mr. Miller was already dead when he was stabbed."

"Wow, that is amazing, Dr. Cuddy." House made a show of being impressed. "Perhaps you missed your calling as an ear specialist, as I could clearly overhear that little revelation coming in."

Lestrade nodded to the scalpel. "Is that from the hospital?"

"It could be," Cuddy said. "Unfortunately, if it was being placed aside, it could have any number of people's fingerprints on it."

House had brushed past us to study the body as Lestrade used a handkerchief to carefully pick up the scalpel. "We'll have to check anyway. I'll need any other information you may have on Mr. Miller, family, friends, what he was in here for, all that sort of thing."

"I am interested in that information as well," Holmes said. "It could prove vital to figuring out who stabbed this man and why."

"The why I can tell you." We all turned to see House studying the man's mouth. "This man died the same way all those people died. He died that way and someone did this to make it look like he was stabbed to death."

"But why?" I asked.

House reached into the man's mouth and pulled out his finger, gazing at the drool that was on it. "That is the question, is it not?" He turned and began to pace by us, still holding up the finger. "If you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

"Where are you going?" Holmes asked.

"Oh, just had a brainstorm and I'm planning on flying a kite in it," House replied. Holmes followed as I tried to catch up, certain that I was about to witness a very interesting exchange.


	4. Chapter 4

A Case of House and Holmes

By Michael Weyer

As much as I disdained the personal behavior of Gregory House, I had to admire the way the man immediately leaped into action when it came to a medical mystery. Within moments, he was working in a small lab along with his staff, who seemed equal parts intrigued and baffled at what he was doing.

"How many times did I ask if you all checked everything?" House began as he examined the small beaker holding the salvia he had taken from Miller's mouth. "Don't bother, rhetorical, but an answer would be appreciated nonetheless."

"We checked the victims all over," Chase was saying.

"Including the mouths?" House asked. "Cause if I can see it, you should too. It's the leg that's bad, not the eyes."

He handed the beaker containing the salvia to Foreman. "Here, put this under the microscope."

"Um, what if it's poisonous?" The black man asked.

House just blinked. "That's why I'm asking you to do it."

Foreman just rolled his eyes as he took the beaker and moved to the microscope. Holmes and I were standing nearby, watching with interest as House sat on a small chair, tapping his cane on the floor. "So we have a dead man who has apparently been killed twice. I know the British tend to overcompensate but that's a bit extreme."

"If he died from this mysterious illness," Cameron began. "I guess they wanted to hide----"

"Don't call it an illness," House interrupted. "Someone targeted this man which means whatever this thing is, it's a weapon."

I frown. "A virus used as a weapon?"

"It's not unheard of, Watson," Holmes stated. "It's an ancient practice to unleash animals carrying diseases into enemy camps to create a plaque. Not just during the Crusades but also in the East."

"Yes but to civilians?" I shook my head. "It seems so…unorthodox."

"I've got something," Foreman announced as he studied the microscope.

"I keep telling you to bathe more and that won't happen, monkey," House remarked.

He glared before rising up. "Look at this." Chase came to look first, followed by Wilson, each seeming surprised at what they saw. House managed to lean up to look himself and let out a low whistle. "Verrrry interesting."

"What?" Lestrade impatiently asked. "What is interesting?"

"Someone silence that chattering?" House asked as he kept studying the contents of the microscope. "It's cutting into my concentration."

"What is it you've discovered, Doctor?" Holmes asked.

House nodded at the microscope. "It seems that the salvia has traces of curare in it."

"Curare?" I frowned. I furrowed my brow as I tried to place the name. It sounded familiar but I couldn't quite narrow it down.

"Curare?" Holmes asked it less out of confusion and more by surprise. "Hmmm…I've heard of it. A drug used by native tribes in South America, dating back centuries. It often induces paralysis."

"Ah, the benefits of an Oxford education," House intoned. "Yes, it does indeed do that. It also creates death via asphyxiation, rather sudden and with little trace."

"Which may well be the cause of death," Wilson noted.

"Which brings us to the key question," House said as he leaned back in his chair. "How did these people contract curare poisoning?"

"Maybe they all went to South America recently?" Chase asked.

House nodded. "All right…now can we hear an idea that isn't completely stupid?"

Chase frowned. "What's wrong with that theory?"

"Have you seen the list of victims?" House asked. "A banker, a dockworker, a street walker, a teacher? None of them have ever left London, let alone been to South America. Nope, whatever this is, someone brought it to these shores."

"There must be some sort of common link," Holmes stated, rubbing his chin. "One moment." He moved to the files House's team had organized and began to go through them. "Hmm….are these accurate portrayals of where they had been?"

"We did our best interviewing family and friends," Cameron piped up. "It was difficult in some cases but we think we've painted a good picture."

Holmes glanced through them and I saw the light flare in his eyes as he made a connection. He flipped through several of the pages, reading over the notes on them and slowly nodding. "Yes…Yes, I see it now."

"See what?" Lestrade asked, impatient once more.

Holmes brought the files over to House. "What do you think?"

House leaned over to look and slowly nodded himself. "Yeah…not bad…not bad at all…"

Lestrade was quickly losing his patience. "Would one of you gentlemen mind informing the rest of us what you've found?"

Holmes held up the papers. "It appears that the victims may have led different lives and lived in different places. However, one thing in common is that they were all in the same area of south London roughly a week ago."

Cameron was instantly alert. "Maybe we should alert the authorities, it could be an epidemic."

"If it was, we'd have a lot more cases," House sardonically noted. "Whatever happened, it's localized and only struck these specific victims."

Holmes tapped his fingers on a table in thought before glancing to me. "It would appear, Watson, that there are certain things regarding this case that I am not privy to."

For once, I could see where Holmes was leading. "This is no accident. These people were selected for a reason. Perhaps they saw something on that day?"

Holmes nodded. "Yes, something that someone was willing to kill in order to keep silent." He took a deep breath. "Sadly, it appears that there is only one place to go to in order to get the proper information."

"Your brother?"

He solemnly nodded. He then turned to Lestrade. "Inspector, we shall have to be back in touch with you later. Hopefully, we'll have more information then."

"Hold on," House said as he stood up. "I'm coming with."

Holmes stopped by the door and turned, a frown on his face. "Why?"

The doctor began to limp over. "Well, partly because you're _such _a charming and wonderful conversationalist," he dryly stated. "But mostly because I want to find out what is going on here and I'm willing to put up with you to do it."

He turned to his charges. "You all get working on that body, look for any more traces. Double-check the other victims too. Chase, try not to faint this time and Cameron, would it kill you to clean up right afterward?"

The group glared at him as he limped along with Holmes and myself toward the waiting coach.

"So just what does your brother do?" House asked as we rode toward the Diogenes Club.

"That is an excellent topic for discussion," Holmes stated in a dry tone. "Suffice to say, my brother takes a different approach to criminal matters than I do."

"Oh so he only annoys the inner workings of small hospitals?" House asked.

Holmes shot him a quick glare. "My brother has a position with the government, one he likes to keep secret."

"Head of the oral hygiene board? By the way, wonderful thing we just invented in America, it's called toothpaste, try it sometime."

"Sir, must you be so belligerent all the time?" I asked impatiently, tired of this man's arrogant attitude.

"I must, I must," he said in a playful tone and I believed it best not to press the issue further. Holmes evidentially agreed with me as we kept silent until reaching the club.

The Club was dimly lit, the porter letting us in and to Mycroft's room. It was rather opulent with top-of-the line decorations and furniture, all expensive looking, a contrast to Holmes' more sparse abode. Mycroft himself was seated in a large chair that I suspected was actually built for his bulky dimensions.

House took one look at the elder Holmes and rolled his eyes. "Well, now I know where you were those years when the world believed you were dead. You were hiding in your brother's stomach."

Perhaps it was my imagination but I almost thought I saw Holmes' lips turn up at that. Mycroft was just sipping some tea when he saw us approach. "Sherlock," he boomed. "I didn't expect to see you back here so soon." He glanced at House. "And this must be the infamous Dr. Gregory House."

"Infamous? I'd pick notorious myself," House said as he sank into a chair. Seeing a waiter pass by with a tray of drinks, he nonchalantly picked one off and began to sip it, ignoring the annoyed looks on the faces of the waiter and Mycroft.

Holmes sat in another chair and I picked one at his side. Holmes was instantly alert as he faced his brother. "Mycroft, it would appear that this little task you're asking me to undertake is far more complicated than you led me to believe."

"In what way?" Mycroft asked with what he evidentially considered a show of innocence. It rang less than true with Holmes.

"Dr. House here has uncovered that these people died of curare poisoning," Holmes said. "And it appears they were all in the same neighborhood at roughly the same time. In short, Mycroft, someone is targeting these people for death and I highly suspect you know who and why."

Mycroft took a long sip of his brandy as he mulled over Holmes' words. He set it down and slowly nodded. "Very well, Sherlock. You understand that what I am about to tell is highly confidential and I expect you and Doctor Watson to keep it most secret."

"You know you can rely on my discretion, Mycroft," Sherlock said in a chiding tone. "And Watson's as well."

"Sure, you can completely rely on the guy who's sole goal is publishing full details on every case Holmes gets," House threw in as he finished the drink.

Mycroft solemnly nodded. "Very well, Sherlock. For some time, my…office has been tracking the moves of some new criminal enterprise. It appears to have migrated from America. They seem to have grown in New York and are now branching out."

"I knew you were going to blame us Yanks. I just knew it," House muttered.

"It appears," Mycroft went on as if he hadn't heard House. "That this enterprise is setting up an operation in south London. I sent one of my men to investigate secretly but he had yet to find anything concrete. Or at least, he hadn't before his death."

"I see you don't possess many details, Mycroft," Holmes noted. "Surely you must have more information than that."

"If I did, Sherlock, I wouldn't have had to come seeking your aid, now would I?" Mycroft pointed out. "No, we do not know what the exact enterprise entails but it seems clear that my agent was in the area at the same time as these other victims."

"How close a neighborhood?" House broke in. "A few blocks, by one building? I'm trying to see how localized an effect this is."

"Again, that is something we are unaware of." Mycroft sounded more annoyed by that than House's questions.

House sniffed. "Well, with such amazing intelligence gathering skills, I can't imagine how you let the Empire fall apart."

All three of us glared at him before Holmes continued. "So someone killed your agent and has apparently been attempting to silence the rest of the people in that area that day."

I was a bit taken aback at that. "You're suggesting that someone is killing these people on the off chance they may have seen something suspicious?"

"This group is rather extreme, Doctor Watson," Mycroft noted. "Extreme enough to kill a hundred innocent people to reach their goals."

"Which you are still in the dark about," Holmes noted. "Surely you have something else to go on, Mycroft."

"If we do, Sherlock, I would tell you." For once, I believed Mycroft was telling the truth. "Sadly, whatever clues my man knew died with him."

A loud snort cut through the lobby. We turned to see House shaking his head in disgust. "Sooner or later, you're all going to have to catch up to the 20th century, you all know that?"

"What do you mean?" Holmes asked, confused.

"I mean that we can still find plenty of clues from the bodies of your man and the others," Holmes said as he rose up, leaning on his cane.

"I've studied the reports your hospital had," Mycroft severely stated. "I can find nothing that can help us."

"See, two things wrong with that. First, they didn't know what to look for. I do. Second, they're not as smart as me, I am." He turned and started to limp toward the doorway. "Fellow I know in America named Grissom told me that just because you're dead doesn't mean you can't talk. We just have to know how to listen. Are you coming or should Watson there start to plan my own series of stories?"

As he limped away, Mycroft and Holmes exchanged a long look. "Now that, Sherlock, is an individual more rude than you are."

"Coming from you, Mycroft, that's high praise." I smiled a bit at the rare show of brotherly bonding the two possessed before Holmes and I rose to follow the good doctor out.


	5. Author's note

Author's Note

Just a quick note apologizing for lack of updates. Been busy with a BTVS/Star Wars crossover (shameless plug) as well as personal life stuff. Also, a bit of writer's block how to work the next chapter of the story which is always annoying. I do have plenty of interactions with House and the team so hoping to get past it soon. Just letting you all know I greatly enjoy all the comments and am glad so many people enjoy this story. I hope to be able to present more of it soon. Thank you for your patience.


	6. Chapter 5

A Case of House and Holmes

By Michael Weyer

My apologies for a delay in updating, got caught up in a new BTVS/Star Wars crossover and "House of Strange" (shameless plug). But hoping to find time to update between them. All comments welcomed and thanks for keeping up with it.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx**

I am by no means queasy around corpses. As a doctor, one must get used to dead people and especially when in the company of Holmes. However, spending time at a morgue is not among my favorite pastimes. I much prefer to help the living, not spend time among the dead.

While he has not said it clearly, I do suspect Holmes has spent time in such places before. Given his understanding of corpses, it seems little surprise he would wish to know more of the ways of death. But I could sense some unease given our circumstances.

We had returned to the hospital from Mycroft's club, House apparently intent on some task. As soon as we had returned, the man headed right for his fellow doctors and (in language I do not wish to repeat) demanded they get the bodies of the most recently departed down to the morgue for examinations. Thus our current and rather sobering surroundings.

Not that "sobering" seemed to have much effect on House.

"I hate doing autopsies of the English," he said, tapping his cane on the side of a table. "The teeth, the smell, the way that arrogance seeps out of the body when you cut it open…"

He was watching as Foreman opened the body of a man in his forties who had succumbed to the ailment earlier in the week. The rest of the team was around, all watching, Chase with a somewhat queasy expression on his face. Cameron, however, was rather intent on studying the body as Foreman began his examination.

"So…find anything yet?" House asked.

Foreman glared up at him. "I just started the examination."

House nodded slowly. "So…find anything yet?"

"It might help if we had an idea what we were looking for," Wilson pointed out from his spot near House.

House frowned at him. "That sort of defeats the entire purpose, now doesn't it?"

"Why am I the one doing this?" Foreman demanded. "Wilson is more experienced at this sort of work."

"Yes but you're intended to be used for dirty work the upper crust don't want to mess their hands with," House pointed out. "Just keep an eye out for anything clogging the lungs and heart tubes."

"Are you certain you can find some sort of clue this way?" Holmes asked. "The police already searched the bodies and their clothing."

"There's more than way to find a trace of where a person has been," House stated. "What I'm hoping to find is a trace of whatever was in that area that necessitated all these people dying."

I was baffled at that statement. "What do you mean? Trace of what?"

"Well, I'll know when I find it but obviously, there had to be some sort of element around that they wanted to keep hidden, right?" He shook his head at Holmes. "You sure this guy graduated medical school?"

I sputtered at that as Cameron spoke up. "House, do you know the difficulties in classifying something no one's heard of before?"

"Come on, look at the bright side, we get into the record books!" the doctor stated.

Foreman was doing his best to ignore the man as he kept checking the body. He seemed to frown as he probed the inside of the man's stomach with the knife. "I think I may have something."

He reached for a swab and dabbed it into the man's body. He held it up for us all to see it marked with a strange coloration. It appeared to be red at first but as he held it under the light, we could see it was actually closer to purple. House was rising to his feet and moving in to peer closely at it. "Hmm…now that sure doesn't belong."

Holmes reached to take the swab and brought it over to a nearby microscope. "Ah, that's hospital property, just so you know," House intoned. "You break it, you have to buy it."

Holmes frowned as he backed up. "Hmmm….I think I may need to run some experiments upon this at my home."

"We have a full lab here," Wilson piped up.

Holmes smiled. "Yes but my lab has some…unique items." Knowing of Holmes' travels as I have, I knew those items were of the type a hospital does not normally stock.

Foreman was confused. "If you have that sort of equipment, why didn't we do this here?"

Holmes made a show of mock indignation. "Cutting open a dead body in my dining room? Mrs. Hudson would have a fit. Do you know how difficult it is to find good help these days?" I wondered if it was possible Holmes was allowing House's influence to get to him.

"You can always hire Cameron," House intoned. "Sure her cooking stinks but she does a good job getting bloodstains out of tables." House stood up and moved to the rack nearby. "Well, let's get on the road then. Cameron, you're with me. The rest of you can clean this up."

"Wait, you're going with them?" Chase asked, obviously thrown.

"Yes, I am," House said as if talking to a fool. "You do hear well, don't you? This is your home country."

"I'm from Australia."

"Well, settled by English convicts," the doctor waved off. "Big diff."

"As I recall, your nation was originally used for a penal colony," I dryly pointed out.

"But unlike the Aussies, we kicked your asses," House stated as he shrugged on his coat. "Oh, and check out the other bodies, see if you can find that trace in them as well."

"How can we do that?" Wilson asked. "You know how hard it is to get a body exhumed with the families."

"You got a shovel and strong arms, use your imagination," House replied.

"That's illegal!" Chase protested. "And immoral!"

"Details, details. Good luck with it."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

While our earlier carriage ride back to Baker Street had been silent, our return visit was not as sedate. House and Cameron chose the occasion to get into an argument about the political situation in America, which I did my best to tune out. Holmes, I am sure, was listening but for myself, politics has been rather dull. Indeed, Holmes would be the first to point out how governments may come and go but the human condition remains the same.

We finally arrived back at Baker Street, disgorging from the carriage and heading inside. Mrs. Hudson was surprised to see our visitors. "Mr. Holmes, should I set out more places for dinner?"

"Depends on if you're cooking," House stated. "Because I've been subjected to the English style of 'cuisine' for quite a while and I think that's a key reason so many people rebel against you."

Holmes sighed. "Mrs. Hudson, this is Doctor House and his associate Dr. Cameron. They are assisting us in an investigation and-----"

"Enough of the dilly-dally and such!" House said as he started to limp up the stairs. "How about we break out the beakers and see what we can find, shall we?"

I gave Mrs. Hudson a sympathetic smile. "I could do with a light roast, nothing too fancy."

"Thank you for that, sir," the woman replied. "And you, my dear?"

Cameron smiled. "I might have a small slice." She sighed as she removed her cap and coat. "Sorry but House can be…infuriating and insulting."

Mrs. Hudson just smiled. "My dear young lady….believe me when I say I have ample experience with such an attitude."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

I am aware that some may believe me a less than bright man. While I tend not to let my ego get the best of me, I would point out that compared to Holmes, most any man could come off as less intelligent. Thus, you can imagine my disconcertion at being around a man who could almost match Holmes in both intellect and arrogance.

They had been spending the last hour with Holmes' lab equipment, going over the sample using some experiments that frankly were beyond my comprehension of chemistry. Holmes was doing his best to keep his mind on the work while House subjected him to a series of biting comments I will not waste the print repeating.

House glanced over to where Cameron was studying a small slide with a trace of blood on it. "Find anything new yet?"

Cameron shook her head. "No, nothing unusual."

"No elevated tea levels?"

Holmes dropped some powder into a small vial filled with green liquid and put it over a burner. "Dr. House, I don't mind saying that your prejudices about our country are getting extremely annoying."

"Gee, that's too bad," House said as he leaned into a chair. "I actually think that compared to some of my country's leaders, I'm rather open-minded."

Cameron muttered something under her breath which I suspected was hardly ladylike. Mrs. Hudson entered to put a tray of tea on a nearby empty table. "Anything else I can get anyone?"

"A Scotch would be nice," House intoned.

"We don't keep Scotch around, sir," she answered patiently.

"Not much of a bed and breakfast then, are you?"

"I run a decent home, sir."

"Which means there's some ill repute going on. Come on, you don't have some secret suitors over when your boss goes out of town?"

Her face went red and she sputtered. "Sir, I will not have that language here!"

"I don't see a chain around your foot. Go on and leave."

She clenched her fists before spinning around and marching out of the room. Holmes scowled at House. "Do you understand how difficult it is keeping her mood steady already, sir? I do not need you adding more to her burdens."

"If she lives under the same roof as you, she's already burdened," Cameron remarked while looking at another slide. I had to look away, certain that I would be unable to hide a smile if I saw Holmes' expression.

When I looked back, Holmes was pouring the contents of the beaker into a small plate. He reached to shuffle a fork-like instrument through it and looked at it under his microscope. He stiffened suddenly and I instantly knew he had found something. "Look here," he said.

House leaned in to look and frowned deeply. "Hmm…now that's downright peculiar."

"What is?" I asked.

"Funny, I didn't think it'd be this easy to catch like this," House stated.

"Catch what?" Cameron asked.

"I have some selective methods," Holmes stated.

"I can see that. Mind if I borrow some of these sometime?"

"I do as a matter of fact."

"What is it?" Cameron asked.

"Oh, come on, can't you spare a few sets?"

"Holmes, what have you found?" I asked.

"This is highly selective equipment!" Holmes snapped.

"That's good, I'm a highly selective man."

Cameron glanced over to me. "So he just tends to keep his discoveries to himself too?"

"Until he's ready to reveal them," I confirmed. "He'll deny it but Holmes has a very theatrical side to himself."

Cameron sniffed. "Don't start on actors. One thing we all have in common is that we prefer the English theater scene to America."

"Any reason?"

"Having an actor assassinate your President puts a damper on the scene there."

"Hey," House called out. "You two want to keep talking or are you interested in what we have to say?"

I shared a look with Cameron that told me we each knew how the other felt. "What is it?" I asked.

Holmes backed up to light his pipe. "This substance contains some traces of laudanum."

Both Cameron and I reacted to that. Laudanum, for those not knowledgeable, is a key ingredient in opium, one of the reasons it is misused as a narcotic. "So…there was opium there?" Cameron asked.

"It appears that way," House stated as he leaned back. "But this means it was inhaled somehow, which shouldn't be possible."

Holmes paused. "Unless…someone was transporting the pods and somehow they were released."

For once, I was able to grasp what Holmes was saying. "The spores from the flowers would have spread in that area, inhaled by the people. The effects wouldn't be as dramatic but might have manifested somehow."

"Thus they had to eliminate all witnesses to prevent their operations being discovered," Holmes concluded.

"But why use the curare?" Cameron asked. "There had to be more efficient ways to do it."

Holmes sat in his chair and puffed on his pipe. "That shall require some more thought." He took several puffs as silence reigned, giving Holmes the opportunity to let his amazing mind try to put the clues together.

Naturally, it didn't last long.

"So is that a no on borrowing the set or what?"

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

**Sorry for the long delays, hopefully not as long until the next one.**


	7. Author's note 2

Author's Note 2

I know it's been a while since I updated and I apologize. Been caught with a bit of a block with what to do with the story next and tied up in my Buffy/Star Wars crossover stories (cheap plug). I do hope to be able to continue it soon and ask for your patience. I do want to get into it more, just need to figure out time and the right way to go. Thank you again for your patience with it.


	8. Chapter 6

A Case of House and Holmes

By Michael Weyer

My apologies for the long delay and the thanks of all those who have commented on this story and eagerly awaited more. Hope this makes it worthwhile.

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From the look on her face upon our return, Dr. Cuddy was not happy about the current situation. From what I could gather, the woman undoubtedly had a difficult time putting up with House's behavior and tasks and House himself did little to alleviate her concerns.

"Where have you been?" she demanded as we came back to the hospital. "The board is getting upset about these deaths. I don't know how much longer I can put them off from opening us to a full examination."

"We're doctors, we're supposed to be open to examinations," House said as he limped down the hallway.

"Not like this!" Cuddy snapped as she followed him. "House, we are guests in this country, in case you've forgotten."

"How can I? The service they give us is atrocious," House remarked as he limped along.

Cuddy rubbed at her forehead. "Listen, we got a patient that just came in."

"And that's my concern, why?"

"She's a young woman."

"Okay, getting a bit more of my attention now."

Cuddy took a breath. "She came in complaining of some chest pains and Foreman and Chase believe she may be suffering from the same thing that killed the others."

Holmes and I were instantly alert but House appeared less impressed. "Foreman and Chase also believe in Father Christmas, so I'm not exactly sure about their opinions."

Cuddy glared at him. "House…"

"Oh, all right," he said in annoyance as he limped to the room the woman was pointing to. "Remind me again why I work here?"

"Because no other sane hospital would take you!" Cuddy yelled.

"Love you too, darling," he called back over his shoulder.

We entered a small waiting room where Foreman and Chase were standing by a bed. Lying on it was a woman of about eighteen years with curly brown hair. She was clad in a loose nightgown, coughing into her hand, her thin form shaking on the bed. She managed a weak smile as House came in. "'Ello," she said in a working class accent.

"What is it with you people unable to pronounce the letter 'h' right?" House asked Holmes and I before turning back to the girl. "So, what's your name?"

"Mary Foster," she said. "Sorry, I just woke up this morning with a bad cough and…a heaviness in me chest."

"Poetic," House intoned. "Well, what were you doing last night?"

"Oh, just…out," she said, looking away.

I will be the first to admit I lack Holmes' perception and ability to figure out a person's entire life within moments of meeting them. However, I have been in enough clinics in my time as a doctor and enough places of ill repute aiding Holmes to recognize a streetwalker when I see one. I could tell House did as well but did not seem concerned about it.

"Listen, darling," he began. "I don't really care about your late night activities. Hell, I often hire a few of your ilk when the scratch hits me. All I need to know is whether you were by a certain warehouse the other day."

The woman frowned. "Warehouse? Um, yes, I was. I was heading to market before I went to work. I was passing by that warehouse when someone dropped a crate, burst it open. There was a lot of dust, covered so many people on the street and there was an argument."

"Argument?" Holmes interjected. "Between whom?"

"Um, the driver of the cart and someone, looked to be his boss. Big man, dark hair, in a suit," Mary replied. Holmes mentally noted as she continued. "He was yelling, he seemed pretty frantic. I couldn't understand it. It just looked like a bunch of silly flowers to me but he had them scooped up quickly."

Holmes took that in while House was more interested in a piece of paper Chase had handed him containing notes on the woman's examination. "Any dizziness? Light-headed? Shortness of breath?"

The woman nodded. "Yes, actually. Do you think…"

"I do indeed," House nodded. "Foreman, tell the surgery teams we'll be ready in an hour and try to keep it clean."

All of us stared at him in surprise. "Wait…" Foreman said. "You mean…we're performing surgery on her?"

"No, I kinda thought it's time we instituted surgery drills around here," House sarcastically said. "Yes, you moron! We're going to cut her open and poke around."

"You're what?" Mary screeched, obviously agitated.

"Don't worry, we're professionals," House said. "I promise we'll have you back mostly intact before we sew you up."

The woman seemed ready to leap out of the bed and run as Chase shook his head. "Dr. Cuddy has to okay any surgeries, House."

"Oh, fine, fine." The man turned to limp out of the room. "I'll talk to her. But I don't see how much of a problem this will be."

Foreman scratched his head. "I don't understand. Why do a surgery?"

"Well, partly to meet our quota for the week," House dryly stated. "But if you want to know more…" He suddenly turned and began to march away. We all quickly followed as he moved faster than I would have expected from a man with such a severe limp.

We soon entered that meeting room he had for his fellow doctors. House was moving to a chalkboard that had a list of words I quickly recognized as the symptoms they had determined the victims had died of. Cameron and Wilson were both startled by our arrival as House limped the blackboard.

His cane smacked against each entry in turn. "So, kids, are we seeing a pattern here?"

"Shortness of breath…dizziness…heaviness in the chest…" Chase began.

"Coughing, possible salvia and mucus build-up," Foreman continued. "The same symptoms Mary is suffering from."

"And she was in the area," Holmes intoned.

"So, what does that tell us?" House did not give anyone a chance to answer before going on. "It tells us that she may well be in the same boat as our past victims. However, we have a chance to commandeer that vessel, hijack the death barge and sail her into less harsh waters."

He rose back to his feet. "I'll get Cuddy to give the okay. Chase and Foreman, check on the patient, Wilson stays here to go over data and Cameron, get me a copy of _Moby Dick_. I need more nautical metaphors."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

"Are you out of your damn mind?!"

I highly suspected this was not the first time Cuddy had ever asked that question to House. The man appeared blasé as he sat in the office, tapping his cane on the floor. Holmes and I stood a bit behind him, watching as Cuddy railed at the man.

"House, the last time I let you do a surgery, you ordered the man's liver cut out!"

"And found out the source of the infection that was killing him in the process," House calmly intoned. "I wouldn't be asking if I didn't think it was necessary." He paused and shrugged. "Actually, if I thought it was imperative, I'd just go ahead and do it but I like giving you the illusion of control now and then."

Cuddy rubbed her forehead. "House, I am trying to keep this place together and you're just making it harder. The board is on my neck and now this could expose the hospital to more danger. It could expose me to danger!"

"Now, Cuddy," House said in a calm tone. "You know I would never expose you. At least not in public and without trying a few drinks on you first."

Cuddy seemed ready to snap again but Holmes stepped into the argument. "Madam, I can understand your hesitation but we must explore all options available in order to discover the truth behind these deaths. It may be the only way to prevent further ones."

Cuddy sat behind her desk, adjusting her dress and I felt the compulsion to automatically look away from her bountiful cleavage. "House…"

"Cuddy…" he said in the same tone. "I know you may mock me but isn't saving lives kinda what the rest of you are here for? Me, I'm just hanging out but…"

"Fine, fine!" Cuddy said, waving her hands. "But be careful."

"I am ever the soul of discretion, Cuddy."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

While I am a veteran doctor, it has been a while since I scrubbed in on a surgery. Modesty forces me to admit that my surgical skills were adequate, not truly phenomenal and I have been happier with my small practice. Yet, my experience was enough for Holmes to insist I be in the surgical room to observe the proceedings.

It is not that Holmes is squeamish at all or that he is not knowledgeable of surgeries. But Holmes' talents are more for the mind and spirit than the body and thus he felt it better for me to relay the findings to him.

Interestingly, House himself did not attend the operation but simply observed it from another room. I am certain he and Holmes had quite a few comments to make to one another but despite my constant asking, Holmes has refused to give me details of their conversation. Indeed, at one point, he openly stated that he did not want to subject the printed page to such "utterly needless tripe."

I watched as Foreman led the surgery, impressed at the man's skill. I could tell that America was developing some unique new techniques that I do hope carry over to this country as well. I watched as he opened the young woman's chest up to examine it.

The sight of it threw me. The mucus build-up in her lungs was far greater than a normal person should have. It looked as if someone had poured it right into her chest and the build-up was thick in some places. The rest of the surgical team was just as surprised at it. Foreman placed his scalpel inside and pulled it out, a long trail following it.

"What in hell…" he muttered.

I leaned in to observe it, seeing the white dots throughout the mucus. "Is this what I think it is?"

Foreman took a deep breath. "We need to talk to House."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

I entered the conference room before the others to see Holmes and House already conferring around the microscope. Apparently, they were going over a sample Foreman had sent to them while they cleared the mucus out and sewed Mary up.

Holmes looked up to me. "What is her status?"

"Too early to tell," I answered as I took back my regular coat. "We cleaned out the mucus in her chest so that clears up the blocking. But there are a few factors of her case we are not sure of yet."

"Yeah, that does get annoying," House said. "Be great if they could put out an easy to use guide on what each disease is. Ah, well, can't expect to lose all the fun in life."

Holmes turned to fix him with a cool look. "I do not find any 'fun' in people dying, sir."

"Course you do!" House said as he sat back in his chair. "Come on, what good is it to just solve any old mundane murder or two? If you wanted that, you'd have joined the police force. Nope, you like the challenge or a strange crime, you love seeing a death that doesn't make any sense, you live to prove what no one else can!" He waved a cane around. "It's why you're here, after all. So, just admit you get some happiness out of this and we can move on!"

Holmes glared at him. "Sir," he snapped. "I will not be talked to in such a manner by a morphine addict."

House showed no surprise at Holmes' conclusion. "Well, it's a bit healthier than being saddled with cocaine."

It was quite striking to see Holmes be the one thrown by someone figuring out his secrets. "The scratching of the arms is a giveaway," House explained. "Now, I could bring up some thing about glass houses but right now, I've got a possible epidemic to put an end to so how about we leave that to the side, ok?"

He turned to the microscope and leaned in. "Hmm…well, it looks like the curare bits are integrated into the mucus."

Holmes and I both frowned at hearing that. "Odd," Holmes remarked. "Normally, it would have integrated into the bloodstream. Finding it in the lungs in such great numbers does not…" He stopped, his eyes widening in a way I knew quite well. "Unless…"

"Unless what?" House demanded, sitting up.

"Unless it wasn't entered into the body via injection," Holmes remarked. "Unless it was breathed in."

The implications hit us at once. "The pollen," I muttered. "The curare was in the pollen…"

"Which means," Holmes gravely stated. "That this was not a case of these smugglers or whoever deliberately poisoning these people. It was released by the pollen into their lungs."

"But…" I began. "That means that contact with these poppies could be fatal to anyone. Why would anyone develop something like that? And how?"

"Excellent questions," Holmes intoned. "But all I can tell for certain is that if those flowers are too widely distributed, the death toll may be quite costly."

House let out a loud groan as he rose back to his feet. "Wonderful. It's now up to me to help prevent an outbreak in this city and will that make you appreciate us Americans more? I doubt it." He started to limp toward the door. "Well, you two talk amongst yourselves. I need to go give Cuddy another reason to curse the day my parents met, a practice I myself am well acquainted with."

As he limped away, I shared a grim look with Holmes. We knew this situation was even more dangerous than we had anticipated and this gang could bring mass death to London. Yet, it still seemed a bit more tolerable than dealing with House much longer.


	9. Chapter 9

A Case of House and Holmes

By Michael Weyer

Yes, I know, it's been a LONG time since I did anything with this story. I do apologize, got caught up in my various other tales and personal stuff along with a case of writer's block. But I figure it's high time I try to find a way to wrap this up so here goes. I hope it's worth the wait.

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For a man who maintains how much he dislikes fame and the attention of the public, Holmes is not above using his influence to try and gain favors. It is rare for him to go so high up in the chain of authority but the possibility of an epidemic spread by smuggled plants did seem to warrant the move.

Lestrade was alarmed when he heard what Holmes was telling him of the pollen laced with the deadly poison. He contacted his superior who contacted his superior and before long, Holmes was in deep conversation with the head of Scotland Yard himself. I was not privy to the meeting due to the fact that I was busy at the hospital seeking more clues into the way the curare was mixed in with the pollen.

From the brief account Holmes gave, the head of the Yard seemed dubious at first as to this entire theory. For all his intelligence in solving crimes, it would appear the man's understanding of medicine was not the best. He was wary of Holmes' statements on the danger but Lestrade spoke on Holmes' behalf to let the Chief know that if Holmes was convinced of something, it was best to listen to him.

I must admit to being disappointed to not being there in person to hear Lestrade tell the Chief (as Holmes quoted) "Sir, if Sherlock Holmes were to tell you without any doubt whatsoever that there is a Father Christmas, start hanging up your stocking."

Given all that, the Chief was willing to give some manpower to investigating the warehouse area and try to find the people behind the smuggling. Holmes seemed to accept this but of course had his own plans, as I learned when he returned.

I was in the laboratory working with Chase and Foreman on studying the samples taken from the victims. House, thankfully, was elsewhere, leaving us alone to our work. I was finding the two young men to be very good at their work, despite House's low opinion of them. Chase was still learning but Foreman was quite capable if a bit gruff.

"Every case is the same," Foreman stated. "Intense levels of the pollen clogging their lungs with the curare. The amount wasn't enough to be as noticeable at first examination but was enough to shut down the central systems and kill them."

"If that was from an accidental dose," Chase noted. "Than an intentional one could be worse."

"Actually, it might be less detectable," Holmes said as he entered the lab, tossing his coat aside. "This is a method of assassination meant to be undetectable and appear quite natural. I suspect that whoever is behind this is planning to streamline the process and remove the residue clues."

"How did it go at Scotland Yard?" I asked my friend.

He gave a "humph" sound as he paced across the lab. "There is a fine reason I work on my own so often, Watson. Far too often, the police place their public standing and internal politics above the good of the people." I could see he was fretting to light his pipe but knew it would not be allowed in the hospital. "They will canvass the area but I doubt that they shall find anything worthwhile left."

I nodded. While in no way whatsoever the detective Holmes was, I had enough experience with the criminal element to know that the perpetrators would have not only left their hideout long ago but also cleaned up any evidence of their activities. "So what will our next move be?" I asked Holmes.

He came to the table, looking over the various samples left behind. "There must be some trace of where they took the poppies," he said half to himself. "Lestrade said he would check shipping records but I am certain they will have avoided listing them in so obvious a manner."

"Well, we need to find them fast," Foreman said. "Before they use this again."

Holmes shook his head. "As I said, they intend to use this as a weapon and not in so light a matter."

Foreman sighed. "Maybe. But as careful as they are, there's still the chance the pollen could get out in the public somehow. They might throw some plants away or it could flow out of some sort of opening in wherever they have it."

Holmes nodded in agreement. "Yes…but in a city so vast, narrowing it down will not be an easy task."

A knock on the door got our attention and we turned to see Cameron in the doorway, her expression serious. "We need to get to the main office," she intoned.

"What's wrong?" Chase asked.

Cameron let out a sigh. "I think House has finally lost it."

"He lost it years ago, Cameron," Chase remarked.

"But I think he's crossed the line this time," the young woman said as she motioned to the hall. We fell in behind her, heading to a nearby office area.

Inside, House was leaning on his cane as he faced a large map of London. A series of circles was made around it, ranging outward and a series of pins was marked at several locations. A nearby chalkboard was filled with names and initials, some sort of code that I could not decipher.

"What in the world…" I couldn't help remarking as I saw it.

"Not the world," House remarked over his shoulder. "Just the one section of it although I understand you English do tend to think that is the whole planet anyway." He pushed another pin into the map. "Heaven help us if America ever gets that attitude."

He backed away from the map with a wide grin and turned to us. "Well, my pack of minnows, it would appear that I have figured a way to save this town from possible destruction. Think I'll get a school named after me for that?"

"House, what are you talking about?" Foreman asked as we looked at the map.

"What's the deal with the map?" Chase added.

"I'm planning my long-awaited odyssey to follow the trail of Sir Walter Raleigh," House said in his usual dry manner. "Just sit down and be quiet so you can learn something for a change."

He turned to point to the map. "I've been busy sending telegrams and message boys all over London to check in on other hospitals."

Cameron frowned. "Isn't that expensive?"

"Very," he confirmed. "Thank God I took money from the hospital fund to pay for it or I'd be in trouble." He pointed to some of the pins. "It would appear that we are not the only hospital suffering from a few deaths with the same symptoms as this. Of course, had someone actually listened to me and asked around, they might have found this earlier but hey, why take the extra step when there's a pandemic about to hit?"

"Where did they take place?" Holmes quickly asked.

House motioned to each pin in turn. "Got a few here on the West End, one in central…but the majority of cases appeared to be here." He pointed to an area near the East Docks. "From what I've found out, these deaths go back a few weeks, last case was two months ago."

Holmes nodded as he stroked his chin. "It makes sense…they must have been keeping the plants stacked in a large area for some time. If they weren't careful, the pollen might flow out and been breathed in, leading to death."

"And since we didn't know about the symptoms beforehand," I deduced. "We and the police missed it."

Holmes was peering at the map intently. "The docks…it makes sense. There are several warehouses in that area, not to mention easy access to ships to send the plants out. But it's still a large area to fully examine."

"Which is why I'm narrowing it down more," House said as he studied the pins he put up. "You think about it, this is just like tracking an infection down. You just need to find the symptoms and the effects and narrow it down to the source."

I had to admit to being impressed by how House appeared actually reasoning and I could tell Holmes was, in his own fashion. "That does make sense," my friend agreed as he moved forward to study the map as well. "Presuming, of course, that they did not move the bodies a distance away to prevent just that sort of discovery."

"Ah," House said as if chastising a student. "That's why I've sent the little pack of ruffians to check out some of those sites." He moved to a nearby table where what appeared to be clumps of dirt were spread out. "Thanks to them, I managed to get some samples of dirt from the areas they were found in."

"And that helps us, why?" Chase asked.

"Because, my little blonde moron," House said in that arrogant tone of his. "That dirt had a few traces of a mold substance." He reached to grab a small bag containing such dirt and tossed it over to Holmes.

Holmes held it up to the light and examined it. "Hmmm…a mix of algae and rust…just the sort that would be found at the first three blocks of the dock area."

I had to smile at the looks of amazement Chase, Foreman and Cameron had at Holmes instantly knowing such information. For my part, I had long ago decided to do my best to cease surprise at the limits of my friend's storage of information, no matter how arcane. For his part, Holmes was already showing that look on his face of determined ideas and resolve. "We'd best inform the police immediately."

"Well, sure, you can do that, let them have all the fun," House said as he paced to the table. "But of course, there's no guarantee that they'll be able to get the job done right. And of course, given the way we've seen this crew operate, one whiff of the gendarmes coming and they'll be bolting and we'll never find them."

"And what would you suggest, sir?" Holmes asked. "While I am many things, a soldier is not one of them."

House smiled. "No but I'm betting that brother of yours knows a few."

Holmes' lips thinned. "I am also not a man who goes scurrying to my brother for favors."

"Hey, it's his job, right?" House said as he leaned against a nearby table. "Thought he was hiring you to do that in the first place."

I coughed for attention. "He's not wrong on that, Holmes. Mycroft would have better resources and more…special training for this sort of thing."

Holmes was quiet, obviously mulling over the distasteful prospect of letting his brother have the upper hand. He finally sighed and nodded. "I suppose you are correct, Watson. I'll contact him at once." He moved to get his coat and I did the same.

"I'll be coming with," House said as he rose up.

We both looked to him with surprise. "What for?" I asked.

"Partially because of how charming your brother was the last time," House dryly said. "But also because I want to see how this thing turns out." At our expressions, he sniffed. "Hey, I'm the one who busted my ass helping you both out here! I think I've earned the right to be there when you bring these guys down."

I could not hide my dubious expression. "I'm not certain…"

"Come now, Watson," Holmes said with a slight smile. "I do believe our good Doctor House has at least earned the opportunity to plead his case to Mycroft in person."

I saw the gleam in his eyes and was struck by the fact that while he may seem to tease me at times with how he boasted about his deductions, Holmes saved his true wicked nature for his own brother.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

As usual, Mycroft was at the Diogenes Club when we arrived, slumped in his gigantic chair and having a meal when he saw us. "Sherlock," he said with a nod. "It is good to see you again so soon." He nodded to us. "Dr. Watson…and Dr. House, a surprise."

"I get that a lot," House said as he once more took a glass of wine from a passing waiter's tray and settled into a chair.

"So, Sherlock," Mycroft said as he dabbed at his lips with a napkin. "Where on the East Side are these culprits hiding?"

I know it is wrong but I must admit a sense of satisfaction seeing Holmes as startled by Mycroft's deduction as people normally are with Holmes'. "How in the world…"

Mycroft smiled as he cut up his food. "At the risk of hurting your ego, Sherlock, I do not rely simply on you for gathering information when an emergency to the Crown is at stake. My own sources have been working and had managed to narrow down the source of the pollen to the East Side. However, the exact area is still unknown to us." He chewed on another piece as he nodded to Holmes' pocket. "I assume that bag peeking out of your suit is a sample?"

Holmes did his best to hide his annoyance at Mycroft's behavior as he removed the bag and handed it to Mycroft. Mycfoft looked at it and nodded. "Hmm…East Dock area…" He opened the bag and brought it up to his nose to take a long sniff. "Ah," he said in a knowing tone. "A taste of the Caribbean…yes, that would make sense and add to it.." He sniffed again. "Part of the smell though…" He reached in and placed a finger into the bag, bringing it up to his tongue.

"Nice to see watching you eat isn't the most disgusting thing you can do," House coolly noted.

Mycroft ignored him as he licked his lips and nodded. "Ah…now I can taste it." He looked up at us and smiled. "The Raven."

"Hark nevermore and no idea what you're saying," House intoned.

"The Raven," Mycroft explained. "A diner at the East Side which serves a special stew with a unique flavor."

I was more than tempted to ask exactly how a man who spent almost every day at this Club could possibly know that but decided Mycroft was never going to answer anyway. "How does this help us here?" I asked instead.

The smile on Mycroft's face reminded me that he and Holmes truly were related as he leaned back. "The Raven is near one main warehouse, the only eatery close enough to it to feed a force of workers."

We all exchanged looks at the revelation. Holmes seemed to understand him. "Which means that that some of the workers must have gone there to eat before falling ill."

"Should we tell Lestrade?" I asked.

Mycroft shook his head. "I think the good Inspector has enough on his plate. I believe my own agents can handle this well."

"I wish to be there," Holmes said.

Mycroft frowned. "Sherlock, I appreciate your aid, truly, I do but this is a serious situation…"

"Mycroft," Holmes interrupted. "I will be going with. We can waste precious time arguing or you can admit that I'll win this fight like I always do."

Mycroft's eyes narrowed. "Not always, Sherlock."

"I dare argue that point, Mycroft."

"Argue all you will, Sherlock, we both know that I was always the better debater."

"The master one?" House said with a sly smile.

Mycroft glared at him before returning his gaze to Holmes. "Oh, very well, Sherlock, just to stop you from getting too annoying, you and Dr. Watson may accompany my team."

"I'll be going with," House said.

"That will not be happening," Mycroft declared in a hard tone. "It's bad enough with Sherlock and Dr. Watson but I am not having someone of your…" He paused and looked at the cane. "Difficulties on hand for such an important moment."

House did not seem perturbed but simply shrugged. "Well, if that's the way you want to play it, I suppose." He leaned back to sip deeply at his drink. "Course, I was going to give a little aid in case some of that pollen got out but if you want your agents to choke to death then and there, so be it."

We all paid attention to that. "You have…a cure?" Mycroft said with a dubious expression.

"Not a cure, per se," House said as he put the drink down. "But with a little study, I think I can whip up a bit of an antidote that can stifle the effects long enough to get them to a hospital." He shrugged. "But if you prefer to just give my hospital a few new cadavers, Cuddy would probably appreciate that as well."

Mycroft rubbed his temples, his hefty body shaking as he swiveled his head a bit. "Oh, very well." He looked to Holmes. "I swear, Sherlock, this man can be just as infuriating as you."

"I heartily disagree with that!" House called out. "I pride myself on being far more infuriating that most anyone else!"

That statement did not surprise any of us in the least.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

My travels with Holmes have often involved some danger but rarely have I found myself in the midst of an armed group. The men appeared to be cut from the same cloth: Not quite military but obviously well trained and comfortable with guns. They were dressed in matching black clothing, which House labeled "the latest in 'on my way to a late night brothel meeting wear.'" There were twelve of them in all, waiting at a corner near the warehouse.

The night had a dark chill to it that seemed rather foreboding to us all. I adjusted my dark coat as I tightened my grip on the revolver in my pocket. Holmes had his own gun out while House simply leaned on a wall and examined his fingernails, looking bored at the whole proceedings.

The warehouse itself appeared deserted from the outside during the day but the light from candles within showed there was activity. The leader of the group, who went only by the name of "Smith" was observing the building through a pair of small glasses. "I don't see any sentries," he said in a voice that, while soft, still boomed with authority.

"That does not mean there are none," Holmes said. "This is an efficient operation."

"Some efficiency," House remarked as he scraped his shoe onto a nearby wall. "They could at least clean up the dung around here." He sniffed at the foul odor. "Huh. Now I know why Chase is so upset at being ordered to do this all the time."

Smith glanced at him before going to Holmes. "Does he have to be coming with?" he muttered under his breath.

"I believe Dr. House has too much regard for his own safety to interfere in such a difficult undertaking," Holmes said with a strong look at the man. "Like Dr. Watson and myself, he is merely along to observe."

Smith nodded. "Sounds good. No offense, we know your reputation but this is more our field of expertise." I strongly suspected that expertise was in areas that the general public is not supposed to be aware of.

He glanced around to his men and nodded. They began to file away, their weapons up and ready as they filed toward the warehouse. Holmes stayed back and I could see him wishing for his pipe but knowing better than to light up such an obvious signal. I must admit to having some impatience myself. To be so close to the denouement of this case but unable to personally take part was rather grating.

We watched as the men seemed to melt into the darkness surrounding the building before us, so quickly I could not see where they had gone. I have worked with the military before but these men were different than regular soldiers. I suspected it was better not to ask many questions about their origins or methods.

I glanced over to House, who appeared to be utterly bored at all the goings-on, calm and relaxed instead of the tension Holmes had. I was about to ask him about how he felt regarding this venture when the sound of gunshots echoed in the warehouse. We were all instantly alert as I removed my revolver from my coat. I dislike using it as I am dedicated to preserving life but the Hippocratic Oath was not intended to be a suicide pact.

Sounds of yelling came from the warehouse and it was clear a struggle was taking place. A shaft of light cut through the darkness from the far side of the warehouse. "Someone is escaping!" Holmes called out. "Come, Watson!"

"He's not your dog," House said as we broke off into a run. "True, big enough to be a bear but still…" I ignored him as I did my best to keep up with Holmes, whose lanky limbs were allowing him to stride before me. We could see a figure racing toward the docks nearby where a boat was waiting, men scurrying about to get it underway with its raised sail. The man was thin with a slight build from what I could see as he raced toward the dock.

"Halt!" Holmes cried out as he raised his own gun. "Halt or I fire!" The man did not stop until he leapt forward and landed onto the boat which was already pulling away from the dock. He had enough time to turn his head enough to show a triumphant grin as the ship got underway. There was a dark roaring sound as it suddenly seemed to pick up speed and move much faster than a normal ship would. Within moments, it was headed away from the dock and towards the open water.

I managed to join Holmes, taking a moment to catch my breath. "How…did they get away so fast?"

Holmes was tightlipped as he gazed out. "A new type of steam engine, perhaps. I had heard rumors…" He seemed somehow distant as he gazed at the boat which was already turning into a dot in the horizon. "Too late to get another boat to stop it, damn."

I was startled to hear Holmes actually curse out loud. It told me that there was more behind the escape than seemed obvious. I did not have the opportunity to ask as Smith came up to us. His shirt was partially torn and I saw a cut on one side of his face. "We've subdued them all," he said. "No casualties to our side, only a few alive for them."

"And the British efficiency pays off once more," House sarcastically stated as he limped behind us. "Well, that was certainly bracing. How about a round at my place? I can bring the morphine, you bring the cocaine, smoke a bit of what they've been making here and have a gay old time!"

Once again, ignoring House was a good measure to maintain our sanity.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Dr. Cuddy did not seem as pleased to be seeing us go as most are. "I want to thank you both for all your help," she said. "I'm just annoyed that you can't seem to tell me more of what happened."

"Sadly, Dr. Cuddy," Holmes explained as we stood in her office. "I am afraid there are some matters of national security. Inspector Lestrade was also unhappy to hear he could not speak of this on record and I am not pleased by it either. However, I do agree with my brother that is better the general public does not know of the exact danger they faced."

Cuddy rubbed at her face. "I suppose you're right. Still, it'd be good to give some sort of closure to things."

"Believe me, madam, I much prefer that as well," Holmes assured her. "But this is one time I am unable to provide such easy explanations for my clientele."

She nodded. "Well, you did manage to solve the case as I requested so I'll see to your payment."

"My thanks," Holmes nodded. "I apologize for that but one must make one's means."

Cuddy smiled as she shook both our hands. "I want to thank you both again and, with all respect, I hope we don't meet anytime soon."

"No offense taken," Holmes nodded. "I must confess to…"

The door burst open as House entered with a bright grin. "Cuddy, my dear!" he called out. "I understand we have a pregnant woman with signs of an odd sort of bleeding downstairs. When can I see her?"

Cuddy narrowed her eyes. "House, Dr. Alisters is seeing her now."

"Allisters is a drunk and an idiot," House said. "I can forgive the first but not the second. Come on, Cuddy, let me have a shot at her."

"House…"

"She's already knocked up, how much damage can I do to her?"

Holmes shot me a look and nodded to the door, indicating this was our cue to leave. I wholeheartedly agreed and we managed to escape as the two began to argue loudly. "There are times, Watson," Holmes solemnly declared as we walked off. "When I believe losing that war was an act of divine providence upon us."

** XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Night had fallen by the time Holmes and I retired to his study at Baker Street. We had finished our dinner and I was preparing to finish my notes on the case. I knew Holmes would deny me the chance to publish them as Mycroft was insistent we keep quiet over how close London came to being struck by a horrible affliction by the means of secret agents. However, this was not the first time Holmes and I had worked on a case that proved not ready for public consumption. Holmes had agreed that a record would be necessary and would have me write my record out for him to keep to himself.

Usually, Holmes is rather animated after a case is done and takes obvious relish in detailing the reason for the crime, how it was done and, most importantly, how he figured it all out. This night, however, he was silent, playing on his violin but his eyes showing a rare light of distraction.

I was finishing my notations when I looked up to see him staring outward. "What is it, Holmes?" I asked.

He was silent and for a moment I thought he would not answer. I was turning back to my work when he spoke. "This last part is not for the record, Watson."

I looked up, intrigued. "Holmes, I've already promised, this won't be for the magazine. This remains with your personal files."

He took that in before beginning to pace. "You…did not see the man who escaped the warehouse, did you, Watson?"

I shook my head. The aftermath of the raid had been busy with the agents quickly going through the warehouse to inventory the various poppies and ensure none had been overlooked. I did not know what the final fate of the plants would be but was confident Mycroft would find a safe place to store them before their study or destruction. The men working there (three had been killed) had been taken into custody without saying anything.

Holmes tapped his nose. "I saw him briefly before he leapt onto the boat. It was only a moment but was clear in the light." He looked down and side. "It was him, Watson."

"Him?" I frowned. "What do you…" I paused as it struck me. Only one man could get such a reaction out of Holmes. "No…it can't be. He died."

"You thought I did," Holmes pointed out. "I admit, it seems impossible anyone could survive that fall. But then, it seems he does the impossible. And it all fits, Watson. The organization, the use of the plants, even the engine. Only one man could conceive such a vast enterprise."

I was quiet as I reflected upon his words and knew keeping this case quiet would be even greater personally to Holmes. I could only imagine what was going through my friend's mind at the realization that Professor James Moriarty was alive and well and creating some sort of havoc in London.

Holmes sighed as he picked up his violin. "I will inform Mycroft in the morning of this. Moriarty will no doubt keep hidden for some time and perhaps has even fled the country by now."

"What if he returns?"

"Oh, he'll return, Watson, I have no doubt of that," Holmes said as he placed his violin under his chin and lifted the bow. "We shall deal with him then, for the last time I hope." He began to play, letting me know the conversation was over for the moment. As the notes echoed through the small apartment, I felt a chill go through the air. Yet, at the same time, I could not help but think that after dealing with Gregory House, Professor Moriarty would be almost a relief.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

**Well, that's that. Thanks for all the great comments to help this along and sorry it took so long to wrap up. But hope you enjoy and never know, I might find a way to work in a sequel someday. Thanks again. **


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